Polarity
by SecretEve95
Summary: Stars twinkled in their complex tapestries above and a crescent moon peered down at her. The world was quiet here. The world inside Mildred's mind was not. Her thoughts were alive and the weight of them fell heavily upon her heart. Somewhere along the line her ardent admiration of Miss Hardbroom had tipped into something deeper.


Polarity

Mildred was seated opposite Maud and Enid with an untouched bowl of porridge in front of her. The dining hall was buzzing with the humdrum chatter of students and her two friends were avidly engaged in a conversation about the threat of a looming potions examination. She could hear the sound of wooden chairs as they were scraped against the floor and cutlery as it clinked against bowls. An overcast sky hovered darkly over the school. It allowed so little sunlight to spill in through the windows that some lanterns remained lit. Mildred glanced involuntarily at the teacher's table and her gaze settled upon the Deputy Headmistress, Miss Hardbroom. The older witch was languidly sipping from a tea cup and her head was cocked in the direction of her colleagues who were involved with conversation. A mild expression of disinterest adorned her features. Mildred's eyes followed the hard lines and angles of the older witch's body in search of the softer parts. The young witch's eyes gleamed with both relish and revulsion; transfixed, she could not look away.

"Mildred," Maud exclaimed. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Uh -."

"What are you looking at?" Enid interrupted.

Mildred rapidly turned her gaze back to her friends. She felt flustered. It was then that the school bell rang to signal the beginning of the day's lessons. A cacophony of sound erupted and the chatter increased from the many students as they scrambled to collect their satchels and belongings and disperse in a timely manner. Faster on the uptake, Enid and Maud had already taken a few steps towards the exit whilst Mildred was still hoisting her bag over her shoulder. The young witch glanced stealthily at the teacher's table once more only to discover that Miss Hardbroom had vanished.

Mildred entered her bedroom and closed the door swiftly behind her. She haphazardly placed her satchel on the stone floor and knelt down to be greeted by Tabby. After taking a moment to affectionately stroke her cat Mildred then rose and took off her boots. Night had fallen upon Cackle's Academy and the young witch's room was cloaked in near darkness. She sighed heavily and elected not to light a lantern and luminate her room. Mildred allowed her eyes to adjust to the pale moonlight that spilled in through the windows. She wandered across the length of her room and sat down sidelong on the wide stone window frame. With outstretched hands she reached for the interior wooden shutters and closed them upon herself. The young witch drew her knees toward her chest and hugged herself into a tight ball. Encased quietly between the glass of the window and the wooden shutters she was hidden from the world. Mildred's cheeks flushed with fluctuating feelings of infatuation. It was this from which she wanted to hide.

The young witch felt the coldness of the stone beneath her and against her back. She noticed as the chill of the night air from beyond the glass infected her hands and feet. Mildred looked lazily out of the window. Stars twinkled in their complex tapestries above and a crescent moon peered down at her. The ancient castle battled against the darkness of the night with an army of lanterns. The hallway outside her bedroom door was silent and the only sound to be heard was the tinkering of the bell on Tabby's collar as he intermittently moved about the room. The world was quiet here. The world inside Mildred's mind was not.

Mildred's thoughts were alive and the weight of them fell heavily upon her heart. Somewhere along the line her ardent admiration of Miss Hardbroom had tipped into something deeper. The young witch noted the manifestation of an irksome pull that tugged her toward the older witch. Longing to be in her presence Mildred found herself permanently in a state of anticipation. Her favourite sound had soon become the steady clack of high-heeled bootsteps against the stone floor alerting her that the older woman was near. When Miss Hardbroom appeared in a room it caused her heart to beat faster and she sat up a little straighter in her chair. Mildred soon became aware that her poor performance in potions class was due to the edginess and nerves that the older woman stirred up inside her. Mildred noticed that as her feelings prospered so too did her judgements.

The persistent presence of these feelings set alight a barrage of doubts within the young witch. It was impossible to ignore and equally as hard to acknowledge that Miss Hardbroom was significantly older that she was. This fact never failed to cause Mildred substantial discomfort and ill-ease. To concede to the allure she felt towards Miss Hardbroom was to breathe life into the repulsion she was met with each time she glanced at the older woman. Mildred could only conclude that she must have stumbled upon a fatal flaw in her personality. The young witch discovered that she could not put a name to this flaw, nor could she cure it. A unique blend of confusion and shame stalked Mildred throughout her days and well into each night.

Much in the same way that honey trickles down to fill an empty jar, the young witch's veneration of the of the Deputy Head Mistress had seeped into her body over time. It moulded itself to the container that was Mildred. It was then that the sweet substance took on an identity of its own. It swirled in the pit of her stomach. It rose to be contained within the cavity of her chest. With nowhere to escape the pressure of it strained, pinched and caressed her innards. It took up every available inch of space. With elegant movements Miss Hardbroom had taken her seat upon the iron throne of Mildred's mentality.

Mildred tried hard to smooth out her tangled web of thoughts.

Perhaps, she thought, what she found so enticing was Miss Hardbroom's confidence which eluded strength to those around her. It may be that Mildred's ardent tendencies towards the older witch had surfaced as she was in need of a role model in the witching world. Mildred's consciousness quipped back quickly with some irrefutable logic. The young witch knew that she had always both looked to and found those same qualities in her mother. Mildred reflected upon all the instances in her childhood when her mother had lovingly done everything in her power to cultivate her confidence and self-esteem. The relationship that the young witch shared with her mother was magical, though her mother wasn't.

Perhaps, she deliberated, it was the absence of Mildred's own father that was at the root her feelings. It could be that the young witch's subconscious was trying to fill the father-shaped void in her life by trying to jam Miss Hardbroom there like an ill-fitting puzzle piece. Resolute and unyielding in her actions and words, Mildred considered that there were aspects of the older witch's personality that may be measured as masculine. Mildred's consciousness bit back with an answer. Her mother had always been all the parent she needed. The hole in her heart that hungered for a father was at this point in time a very small one. As an afterthought, she acknowledged that the kindness and comradery she had grown accustomed to receiving from Mr Rowan-Webb on occasion was more than enough to quell that particular ache for now.

Perhaps, she contemplated, Mildred herself may grow to only prefer the company of her own sex and that was the source of her stimulation in regard to Miss Hardbroom. The young witch harboured no prejudice against this notion; and, she knew that her mother would not either. Mildred's consciousness jibed back by presenting her with facts that lead to more questions than answers. She knew that she had not experienced any feelings other than friendship when it came to Enid and Maud. Without a doubt in her mind, Mildred knew that there had never been any girls who had captured her attention in the way that the older witch had. It was only Miss Hardbroom for whom she felt such reverence towards.

Perhaps, she pondered, it was the knowledge that she would never breach the walls of Miss Hardbroom's inner circle. Which, as far as she could tell, only contained Miss Cackle and Miss Pentangle. Mildred would likely never be afforded the opportunity to get to know the older witch in any kind of meaningful way. Miss Hardbroom was unfailingly professional, emotionally aloof and reticent which left all the room in the world for speculation. Mildred could imagine all manners of things about the older witch and both none of them, and all of them, could be true.

The young witch took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. She whispered into the night a question she could not contend with.

"Why is this happening to me?"

Mildred placed her hand over her heart to touch this slow turning pain.


End file.
